The Dignity of Words, the Power of Silence

​One of the first things I learnt whilst growing up in one of Istanbul’s oldest and most established neighbourhoods, amidst the distinctive streets of Karagümrük, was that words possess a certain dignity. In those years, when neighbourhood culture, respect for elders and the code of neighbourly conduct drew a line of decorum across our language, not every thought was spoken; words were first filtered through the heart, then released onto the street. The dignified silence of our elders actually spoke volumes to us children. This demeanour, etched into my mind from those days, evolved into an unshakeable philosophy of life during my time at the Harbiye Military Academy and throughout the many years I served as an officer.
Life teaches a person, above all else, the highest discipline and unwavering self-control. Through years of observation and my experience in leadership roles, I have witnessed this first-hand: at the most critical moments, the right decisions are made not amidst clamour, but through deep silence and unwavering reasoning. Whether you are leading a community or shaping the next generation, one must always be mindful of the power of words. For true discipline is not merely about training behaviour; it is also about purifying the mind and language of all unnecessary excess. The age in which we live, however, has unfortunately become a noisy era where the value of words has been lost and silence is viewed as a shortcoming. Amidst information pollution and the ceaseless spread of empty chatter, humanity’s greatest test lies in maintaining mental clarity and filtering one’s thoughts through the sieve of self-discipline. Yet today’s world compels people to speak meaninglessly, merely to show off, stand out and secure a place for themselves. There is neither a mature thought nor a truth worth conveying; there is only the noise created by the ego and the frantic rush to fill the void.
​Yet the history of humanity is full of sages who proclaimed the power of silence and the carefully chosen word. Epictetus, one of the Stoic sages who has been my guiding star throughout life, reminded us that whilst a person has two ears, they have only one mouth, emphasising that listening and understanding are twice as valuable as speaking. For wisdom lies not in ceaselessly spouting words outwardly, but in a person’s ability to control their own will and speech. Those who recognise that language is a balance will never utter anything they have not first weighed within themselves.
​The traces of this deep-rooted understanding run deep in the very fabric of our land. Turkish society has embraced silence as a virtue and a profound way of thinking, as expressed in the saying, ‘If speech is silver, silence is gold.’ One of those who best encapsulated this wisdom, Mevlana, said, ‘Speech is a wave; the heart is the sea.’ Any word spoken without the sea’s ripples or the heart’s maturation is no different from the flotsam washing up on the shore. Mevlana’s advice is clear: a word that harbours no truth and does not spring from the heart is merely empty noise beating against the air. Descartes, who opened the doors to Western thought, argued that whilst doubting everything and purifying his mind, a person must first turn inwards and discover the essence of thought. Thinking comes before speaking. Similarly, Spinoza states that the thing a person finds most difficult to control is their tongue. In his view, a person who cannot control their tongue is a slave to their own passions and the dictates of the age. True freedom and mental strength lie in knowing when to be silent and when to speak.
​Throughout my years of active work, and subsequently during my career as a writer and researcher—which has now spanned thousands of pages—and into my retirement, I have always sought this inner tranquillity, whether on the roads I set out on each morning with my ‘Iron Steed’ or whilst sitting at my desk penning social and global analyses. For writing is much like riding a motorbike; it demands intense focus, freedom from unnecessary burdens and complete mental clarity. Looking back now, I realise that the true virtue lies in a person’s ability to control the urge to speak through their own will.
A mature demeanour demands that one refrain from uttering any words that are not fully formed in the mind—words no more valuable than silence. Speaking is not a necessity imposed by the present day; on the contrary, it should be the distinguished fruit of a long period of inner reflection and a deeply rooted worldview that has been filtered through the sieve of history and society. The finest response to the pollution created by those who squander words merely to say ‘I am the owner of this place’ or ‘I am here too’ is possible only through words that are sound in substance, deep in meaning and whose necessity has been carefully weighed.
The greatest truth we must all cherish on behalf of our Turkish language is this: not to succumb to the empty clamour of the age, but to always uphold the honour of our beautiful Turkish language and its words.